Sweet Child The Lost Boys
by fayzalmoonbeam
Summary: David's not a vamp given much to self-reflection. Here's a moment when he does just that. Implied MichaelDavid


Sweet Child  
  
Disclaimer: I've shamelessly borrowed the lyrics from Sheryl Crowe's version of Sweet Child of Mine as they fit David's point of view better than Axl's originals! I own the Lost Boys, but only in my dreams... Summary: David's newest potential childe is causing him to think too much. I don't want to sentimentalise David in this piece, as I feel he's far too splendid a character to turn into an "Angel" (don't get me wrong, I adore Angel but you know what I mean!). Let me know whether or not I managed it! Pairing: implied David/Michael  
  
He's got a smile that it seems to me  
  
Reminds me of childhood memories...  
  
David was not a man who was given to introspection. In life, as well as unlife, he had seen too much destruction, violence and death, much of it by his own hand, to spend time dwelling on that which he was incapable of changing. However, ever since Michael had walked into his life, it seemed that he had spent an unhealthy amount of time dwelling on the might-have- beens of his life. Not since he had turned Marko, cherub faced, babe in arms Marko with the winning smile and the poet's ways, had he pondered the reasons, and the justifications, for his actions. But Michael Emerson's smile, and his wayward aura of innocence had cast a spell on David from which he couldn't escape. Somewhere, beneath the lust, both for blood and sex, a small voice that had been silenced for many years, had begun, almost imperceptibly on the bounds of David's conscience, to speak. It was easily ignored in all but David's most solitary moments. Now, in the uneasy, humid hours before the Santa Carla dawn, he could hear its insistent timbre drawing his attention to thoughts and emotions long since forgotten.  
  
Now and then when I see his face  
  
He takes me away to that special place And if I stared too long  
  
I'd probably break down and cry...  
  
Memories of sunlight, of a different life flashed before his eyes as he was at his most vulnerable. To be perfectly honest, the life he'd had before wasn't worth jack compared to his unlife, and yet... There were times, like now, when some part of him that still yearned for his long gone humanity whispered possibilities of rising sunlight and the world of the living. If and only were words that were easily kept at bay in the darkness with a combination of blood, alcohol and violence. It was when the darkness was ebbing, losing to the warm pink light of the dawn that occasionally his thoughts strayed.  
  
This morning they were wandering to the impossible possibility of a mortal life with Michael. This was the first time had he ever felt the desire to renege on his unlife, his Faustian deal with the night. Not even his affection for the boy Marko had made him feel his darkness so keenly. Marko had been easy to turn, and the innocence that had so appealed to David seemed to exist in the young vampire even after his admission into the brotherhood. David knew that the very incorruptibility that made Michael the man he was would be lost, should he ever fully be turned. He had no idea how he knew; he just knew.  
  
Michael. Angel. Creator of doubt and weakness. David tried to think of him in these terms in an attempt to ward off the memories and fantasies that were infringing on his barely conscious mind. The moment of his turning was something he'd chosen to forget, and he had no desire to relive Max's grubby fangs and semi-naked body. The moment that had changed his life to unlife was merely a means to an end. A glorious and bloody end that he had relished ever since. The circumstances of his rebirth had been far from glorious; he was a skinny rent boy in a by-the-hour hotel room; tired; jaded, old beyond his nineteen years. Max saw an opportunity and he took it. David owed him thanks for transforming his life to what it was now, but he owed him little else.  
  
There had been no doubt until now. No sense of injustice or self-pity. Now he was fighting the battle between forcibly turning Michael and letting him go. A choice that hadn't occurred to him during the brightest of dawn lights for any of his other boys. The smallest yearning for what he couldn't possibly ever have was tapping at his mind, as irritating as the buzzing of a mayfly. But...Michael was something else. David closed his tired eyes and allowed, just for a moment, his fantasy to take shape. A bed, bathed in sunlight. Michael, skin bronzed, the light caressing his lithe and muscular body. Himself, laughing, pouring a glass of Perrier-Jouet '83. The dark shadows had vanished from his eyes and he was once again mortal, whole. Michael leaned over to take the glass from him, and as he did so, their lips touched with the gentlest of kisses.  
  
He's got eyes of the bluest skies  
  
As if they thought of rain  
  
I hate to look into those eyes  
  
And see an ounce of pain...  
  
The tinkling, inconsequential babble of the brandy glass shattering in his hand brought him back. He'd developed a taste for strong liquor early in life. It helped to blot out the pain. David swore. Brushing the pieces from his hands he watched the drops of blood forming on his palm and remembered the pull he had felt when Michael had drunk his blood last night. It didn't matter that it was from a bottle; the sensations had been almost as intense as if Michael had drunk from his sire's neck. Power. Lust. Pain. All it would take to turn him was the final act of the kill. How hard could it be to get him to lapse? It would not be difficult. It was far harder to justify creating the opportunity for that fall.  
  
But why the need for justification? David threw the remains of the glass to the floor. He was losing it, whatever it was. He'd never questioned for one moment the nature of the beast. Acceptance was everything. But...Michael's naively beautiful eyes had asked him questions last night on the railway bridge. Their cerulean blue had bored into David's own darkly shadowed orbs with a clarity that had sent a shiver of unease though the vampire. It would have been so easy to have kissed and killed him that night. Sated his hunger on that virile body. He couldn't. He wanted...something.  
  
His hair reminds me  
  
of a warm safe place...  
  
Safety was something David had never known. Even the arms of his mother had been fraught with danger. He had entered the world violently, and exited the conventional life in the same way. The time in between had been merely a series of tainted interludes until the day he 'died' at Max's hands. The briefest touch of Michael's hair and he was losing his mind. Rationally, there was no safety for him save that which he created for himself and enforced. But when he'd half-jokingly ruffled Michael's dark mane after he'd taken the wine; it was as good as a confession. He'd wanted then to possess Michael. As if in some dark corner of his mind that possession would redeem what little was left of his soul. No. That was merely the sentimental bullshit of a creature yearning for the light. It was far baser than that. He wanted to own Michael's purity, drag it out of him and destroy the light. No again. The ambiguity was the disease.  
  
Where do we go  
  
Where do we go now  
  
Where do we go...  
  
It was no use. The dawn was coming. David felt the sting of the sunlight he cursed and knew his contemplation was over. He stood wearily, summoning the will to fly to the rafters and rest. Once again he drew a veil over the small voice, swearing out loud to distract himself from his thoughts of mortality. Introspection was not something he cared for. As for Michael...he could wait. 


End file.
